Zul-Qarnain these days as a patsy in Babylon
Tim Horton, Tim Janis
Kofi Annan, In a scaffold that knots a shoeless
You are mincing me on a cutting board, these days
In pounds per pounding heart , with knives and bleesed hone
You were a father's lump and a mother's grace
And slowly in your ladder you learned to term these as art
Not those in Those Winter Sundays.
What did you do with that wooden frame?
Did you find the tree in ancestry?
In a writer's studio
Yes even without an autobiography
Surname, on a Harlem street, for one , Lucy Heo?
She is on learner's permit
Dreaming in off white in a bloodshed
That paid housekeeping in Ramses Two.
For a resume in pre-positioning Curator
Which rub will call prophecies of Moses through optical fiber
In Tele-communication.
For an analog togetherness, long gone, scare-crow , coo!
to exhibit digital exit, incognito, too.
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